


after the disasters

by driedvoices



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedvoices/pseuds/driedvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss doesn't do much when she first makes it back to District Twelve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after the disasters

Katniss doesn't do much when she first makes it back to District Twelve. There are people coming in every day, few in numbers but rich in determination, cleaning up the wreckage in town. But she doesn't make a move to help them, just lies in her untouched, empty house and stares out her window. Greasy Sae comes by from time to time to make sure that she eats something, but beyond that she never sees anyone. One day, Sae stops stirring her pot and just stares at Katniss, hard and unpitying. "What are you trying to prove?" she says. 

Katniss doesn't look at her, just slumps farther over the kitchen table. 

There is one thing she does: as soon as she walks through the door that day, she takes all the mirrors in the house and throws them out a second story window. The sound of shattering glass bounces around in her head for days, and it's the nicest thing she's heard in a while. 

-

Two weeks in, she goes back to the woods. It's not leaps and bounds of improvement, and she doesn't trick herself into thinking it is. It's not that she wants to be outside, to reintegrate herself. She just gets sick of the way her footsteps are the only noises she ever hears. She gets sick of the way the house still smells like Prim. She trades one ghost for the other and trudges down to the lake, hair rank and matted and limbs all but atrophied. 

It takes her a good deal longer than she thought it would, and she collapses almost as soon as she hears water, breathing labored and cramps stitching her sides. She wants to be strong again, she realizes; she wants to remember what it felt like to have to be, because at least then she was worth something. She settles for dipping her feet in the water and pretending it's two, three years ago, and Gale will be along soon. 

She hears him before she sees him and freezes despite herself, keeps her eyes closed against the bright sunlight. He's not trying to be quiet, or doesn't know how to, and she reaches for a bow that isn't there. The lake is good cover, though, and it hides her well enough once she's in up to her shoulders; she could be a cluster of weeds, just floating.

He never so much as looks her way. His knees buckle a few yards off, and he makes a dull thud as he hits the ground. Katniss takes the time to study him: hair that wouldn't have been out of place in the Capitol; a heavy coat that definitely cost more than anyone in 12 had ever seen in their life; and a dark stain on his side, spreading and soaking his fingers. 

It's the stupidest thing she's thought in a while, but maybe taking in a stray – it's what Prim would do. 

-

The blood still bothers her, more than she'd care to admit. She's pretty much drenched by the time she gets him home, and dragging him along was probably not the brightest idea but it's the only one she _had_ , so she went with it and probably shook him up enough to keep his wound from clotting. She peels off his coat and takes to sponging off the old, rust-colored blood, staunching the new with a clean bit of gauze. His body is pale underneath her fingers, but it only reminds her how sickly she must look now; anemic and sun-starved and hacked-up. She works to keep from thinking about it, watches the way small streams of water swirl pinkly around his chest, follows them down the paths of old scars. 

She can't tell if his eyes are open or not, that whole time. There's a strip of fabric tied tightly around his eyes, and she knows, somehow, that it's not her place to take it off. He only ever makes one sound, though, and it's not to cry out, to yell. He gives a dry cough and Katniss leaves to get him a drink, comes back with a glass of water that she tips down his throat gingerly. 

"I'm Katniss," she says quietly, and relaxes a fraction in her grip. 

"Hi, Katniss," he says, and then he passes out. Presumably from blood loss. Katniss swears and puts more pressure on his wound. 

-

She falls asleep in an armchair next to the table where he's laid out. It's only supposed to be a for a few minutes, but by the time she wakes up it's dark outside and he's sitting up, picking at his bandages and wincing. 

"Stop that," she says, standing up so suddenly the room spins a little. "I'll do it."

"It's fine," he says, smiling grimly. "Katniss," he adds as an afterthought. 

"So you're a little bit lucid," she says, pushing him back. "You're still my patient."

"I'd like to see a medical license," he quips, but relaxes and lets Katniss fiddle with the bits of adhesive that won't stick. 

"You know my name," she says conversationally, trying not to get queasy looking at his wound, "what's yours?"

"Why do you want to know?" he replies, and she could swear that he tenses up a little under her ministrations. 

Katniss looks at him, puzzled. "So I have something to call you? Is it a big deal or something?"

"Names are important," he says simply. 

"Does this have something to do with the blindfold?" she asks. "You can put your coat back on if you want."

"Thanks," he says, hesitating. "You can call me Riku."

"Riku," she says, testing it out. His lips quirk, and there's a lengthy silence wherein Katniss washes her hands and Riku shrugs on his coat and looks around. Except not, Katniss has to remind herself, because he's _blindfolded_. Even so, she gets the itchy feeling of being stared at, so she hunches her shoulders and says, "So, what are you doing here?"

He pauses for a second, thinking. "That depends on where here is."

Katniss blinks. "Seriously?"

Riku squirms a little under her disbelieving stare. "I travel a lot."

"You don't make sense, you know?" she says, drying her hands on her pants. "This is what used to be District Twelve."

"Used to be?" he says questioningly, leaning his head toward the window. 

"After the bombs," she tells him shortly, and Riku decides to drop the subject. 

-

Riku never really asks to stay; it's rather that Katniss kind of assumes he will. She braids her hair back for the first time in she can't remember when, and straightens up one of the guest rooms for him to sleep in. He watches her clean almost imperceptibly, leaned back against an armchair with his hand pressed to his side in vague discomfort. It bothers her that she can't see his eyes, so she works harder and keeps her head low. 

"You didn't have to go through all that trouble just for me," he tells her once she's finished and helping him up onto the bed. 

"It's not just for you," she says quietly, and flicks off the light. 

-

She finds them some apples one lazy Saturday, when the air is hot and the view from the back porch is all sun-stained trees. She leaves her sleeves rolled up, lets her scars see the light of day. Sometimes she looks down and still expects them to be covered with angry blisters, but that was a long time ago; now they're only tired, withered skin. She wishes they would hurt. 

Riku never mentions them. She knows, instinctually, that he has to be aware of them, at least; he sees them in the strange, knowing way that he sees everything. But he stays quiet, either for politeness or because his apple is pretty tasty, and they munch happily in lieu of conversation. 

She stretches out once they're through eating, with her fingers and toes all straining for something just out of reach. The pull of her muscles is a comfort, a reminder that they're still there beneath months of disuse. Katniss nearly falls asleep, but Riku's voice calls her back. 

"Katniss," he says. 

"That's my name."

"Can I ask you something?"

She sits up, rests her elbows on her knees. "Shoot."

"What are you hiding from?"

"That's kind of a loaded question," she tells him, tucks the hair behind her ears. 

He gives her a miniscule smile. "I guess so."

She thinks for a moment, not so much about her answer as the act of answering. "The mess I've made," she says finally. She leans back to look at him. "What about you? You said you travelled. What are you running from?"

"People who're looking for me," he says easily. 

"On the run from the law?" she jokes half-heartedly. "I should have guessed. Was she pretty?"

"Beautiful," he says, without a hint of laughter. "Both of them were. Are."

Katniss can't bring herself to make fun of him. "If you miss them," she begins carefully, "why are you here?"

Riku leans towards her, just a little. "I'm getting kind of tired," he tells her, and she can't tell whether it's an answer or an excuse. 

-

He knows Katniss hates the way he sees her without seeing. He's half-tempted to take it off on more than one occasion, but he can't bring himself to do it. 

He sees Sora and Kairi all the time, grown tall and lean and into each other. He doesn't want to lose his mask and find that they're not there anymore, or worse, that they are. 

-

To her credit, she only kisses him the once.

He walks without wincing now, and he helps Katniss with the chores around the house. It's nearly habitable now, and Katniss opens the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. Buttercup has taken to letting himself in through the open kitchen window and loitering about on the countertop. Katniss only pushes him off sometimes. 

They're washing dishes one day, elbows bumping casually, when Riku says, "I think it's time to get back to running."

Katniss pauses for a moment. "Oh," she says, and keeps washing. 

"You're a good nurse," he says lightly, not looking at her. 

"I'm terrible," she states flatly, and he cracks a grin. 

"Only a little," he concedes. 

"I could go with you." It sounds less like an offer and more like a fact. 

"But you really shouldn't." And she just leans up and _does_ it. His lips are cold and surprised, and it's not like kissing Peeta. Not even like kissing Gale. She pulls back and his fingers go to his mouth almost instantly. 

"What was that for?" he asks. 

"Good-bye," she shrugs. He smiles and pulls her in by the shoulders, presses his lips firmly against her forehead. 

-

She finds Peeta a week later.


End file.
